


Bound

by peppermintquartz



Series: Bane and Blake [2]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Intimacy, Light Bondage, M/M, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peppermintquartz/pseuds/peppermintquartz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blake and Bane have trust issues to work out.<br/>One is a former-cop-turned-private-detective-and-secretly-a-vigilante, the other is a former-terrorist-and-still-a-terrifying-badass.<br/>Trust issues.<br/>No biggie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

Robin John Blake has been with Bane for a year, two months and three days. 

He still can't quite define the relationship, though. Calling them 'lovers' is odd, because Bane is never... loving. Calling them sex friends would indicate some sort of 'friendliness' between them. There isn't.

There is a sort of respect between them, Blake who saved Bane's life with the belief that Bane can redeem himself and Bane who trains Blake in payment for rescuing Bane's life and helping him overcome his crippling addiction to the pain-killing gas. (It was an accident, that, because Blake didn't know that Bane relied on the gas to dull the pain; he gave a lighter version that weaned Bane off the original just to help dull the agony of the horrific injuries.)

They fuck, frequently; it is one way to work off the adrenaline from their sparring matches, from the patrols, from the horrors that Blake sees frequently in his ongoing searches for the missing children of Gotham. And it is also a fantastic way to work off the nervous energy waiting for an important date, to work off the exultation at having found yet another child and returning him or her to their parents. 

In short, Blake enjoys the sex with Bane. He loves it. Bane is thorough, always, and forceful, sometimes bordering on violent, and Blake finds himself craving the need to cede control to others after having held in his rage and frustration for days, months, years.

On the other hand, this thing between them is becoming very awkward. Blake honestly doesn't want their... this... to end. But if it was going to end up with one of them hunting the other and with hurting and killing and the tearing out of hearts, most likely literal, then Blake wants it to end as soon as humanly possible.

But not, like, _immediiately._  

Call him selfish.

Blake likes having something to himself. It's a trait from his foster homes and orphanage days. What he has he  _keeps_. And he will fight to keep it.

Of course, he may just have tofuck to keep it. 

He's fucking exhausted. He has just fought two gunmen trying to rob a streetwalker, and then he has to fend off the gratitude of the streetwalker. He smells of cheap perfume and stale sweat and the fatigue of an overly long day. He's fucking seen four o'clock twice, and he might just see a third one before he finally gets to sleep.

Bane is awake - does he ever sleep? Blake knows the big man does, probably in between his jaunts as hired muscle who just so happens to infiltrate the organizations that Blake takes down afterwards as Nightwing. But Blake never catches him napping.

"You reek," says Bane. He is tracking the news of the latest crime spree by the new gang. Someone named Cobblepot has been establishing himself in the north sector of New Gotham, and he has not been able to join the crew.

Without the mask he is less than the monstrous terrorist who held the city hostage, but also more than that. He is not just a one-dimensional villain, not just a beast, but someone deeply intelligent and deeply loyal to his tenets of belief, and someone who appreciates acts of kindness even if he appears to ignore them.

Blake knows he is smiling as he comes up the platform. The mask is peeled off and tossed carelessly on the table, on top of the day's newspapers.

"Hey."

"Long day?"

"You can't begin to imagine." 

"I might, but I won't bother."

The exchange is painfully domestic, and Blake takes it in as a precious jewel in his vault of memories. Bane's words are never loudly spoken, always soft, but there's the hint of power that laces through the words. Blake knows firsthand that Bane is powerful, and if Bane's few references to his past were to be believed, Bane used to be even stronger.

It's less than two hours before Blake's birthday. He guards the date jealously: the foster families sometimes tried, but more often than not they forget, and the orphanage had birthday celebrations once a month, so no one remembers his birthday except himself. He shucks off the tight body armor, his skin sticky with perspiration and he sees the grazing of the one bullet that had been fired earlier. An inch closer and it would have torn through his quads and maybe nick a major blood vessel. He doesn't know for sure; Bane is the one who is intimately familiar with anatomical studies.

A quick shower and the sting of the cut only drives home the fact that his life is now nowhere near normal. After the shower he'll change and then hop onto his own motorcycle, a simple black thing that is nothing like the 'Pod, and then he'll head to downtown New Gotham where he sleeps and collects mail. 

It's not home. He doesn't live there. He lives here.

Bane never reveals if he has another place to stay or if the cave is all he has. But there is a king-sized bed - a cheap but durable steel-railed thing from Ikea, and has surprised both Bane and Blake with its sturdiness - in the alcove, a proper toilet and shower with decent hot water that Bruce Wayne had had the foresight to build into the cave, so Blake won't be surprised if Bane does live here. It suits him far more than Blake, anyway. Its cavernous heights and the perpetual rush of water must seem much like the sewers where Bane had been staying during the siege of Gotham.

They don't talk much about it. If and when they do, they end up fighting, and then there's violent and rough make-up (maybe? If they were together then it's make-up) sex and that means Blake stays indoors and in bed for at least a couple of days.

He can't indulge in that sort of stuff. People rely on him to find their children, and he'll be damned before he lets pleasure come before his duty.

Blake towels himself off and sees Bane's bulk walk into the alcove, and he grins to himself. The cheap perfume has been scrubbed off, thank God, because Bane's sense of smell is preternatural. It must be because the nose is finally doing what it is meant to do, so Bane's only concession to tenderness is to breathe in Blake's scent when they share a bed.

"You're hurt." The larger man takes Blake by the arm and keeps him still as his keen eyes sweep over Blake's form. "Gun?"

"Yeah," Blake admitted. "Thankfully I dodge fast." Fatigue starts creeping up his body and he yawns. "Mind if I crash here tonight?"

Bane almost smiles. His scarred mouth is fearsome to look at, and Blake never quite understands why he initiated the kiss a year, two months and three days ago. But it had been good that night, and Bane's mouth is warm and delicious and addictive. Bane pulls off the tee-shirt he has on and then the boots and socks; the pants he leaves on. "It's a big bed."

"Not after you get in it."

"You're little."

"You're just fucking massive."

Bane does smile faintly at the familiar banter before he takes his own shower, and when he lies down on his side of the bed he faces Blake who has slid in naked. The stirrings of arousal warms Blake up when he feels Bane's large hand settle on his hip, but before he can even take action he falls entirely asleep.

 

\------------------------------

When he wakes he is cradled against a reassuringly muscular chest, and Blake can hear the steady thump of Bane's heartbeat.

For the first month after Blake dragged Bane from the rubble there were times Bane almost died. Blake had comandeered equipment from the medics that had rushed into Gotham after the siege (stolen the equipment actually, until Commissioner Gordon gave him free and full access to all the resources he needed for the boys of St. Swithin's). Blake didn't wish to kill anyone, even if they deserved it - and hell knows, Bane did deserve to be shot - but Blake had seen the tear stains on Bane, and the soft, insistent murmurs of 'Talia' that spilled from Bane's mouth as he gasped for a relief that didn't come. 

Blake knows what loss looked like, and in that moment he wavered. The rest is, as they say (whoever they were), is history.

The larger male has wrapped his arm about Blake, and the former cop can feel Bane's hard arousal pressing into his thigh. It must have been difficult growing up the way Bane did, and Blake wonders often if Bane is truly a zealot or someone who did what he did to survive. Or maybe for love; Talia, whoever she was, is a name that Blake takes care never to utter, because that is one of Bane's triggers. 

Blake wonders a lot about Bane. And today, he is an older, wiser man, and he is determined to define this 'thing' that stands between them.

No, not Bane's cock. That is very defined, thank you.

"Awake, little one?" Bane cracks open one blue eye and peers down at Blake.

The younger man smiles and tugs at Bane's pants. "So are you."

"Mm." Bane isn't one for giving in to his body's demands all the time, for which Blake is glad because Bane is fucking massive  _everywhere_ and if every time he's aroused and takes it out on Blake, Blake doubts he can even fucking move his legs to save his life. But this morning he gives in to Blake's insistence and slides the offending clothing off the bed.

Blake climbs onto Bane and starts grinding his hips against the larger man. They rock together, Bane's hands on Blake's hips, and the younger man closes his eyes and lets the sensations wash over him.

Bane grunts when Blake leans down, his erection sliding into the cleft of Blake's ass. "I've not prepared you."

"Mm-hmm." Blake just rolls his hips slowly, surely, his mind waking slowly, and then he smirks down at the powerful man below him. "It's my birthday."

"Oh?" The genuinely perplexed gaze locked onto dark brown eyes. "What is its significance?"

Blake sighed and kisses Bane on his brow. "My people would say things like 'Happy Birthday' and then sometimes offer presents.'

"Is that so?" Bane runs his hands over Blake's sides and thighs, before he says, "Happy birthday. I have no gift for you."

"Mm," Blake hums again. He then grins down at his lover/sex partner/possible foe and says, "You can give me something now."

Bane closes his eyes. "You take it anyway."

"No, not your cock, not everything is about your huge cock," scolds Blake good-naturedly. He stills his motions and Bane looks up. The vigilante touches Bane's lips. "I want you to give me your trust."

"My trust."

"And, okay, your cock."

"As long as it's not detached from my body," Bane says, deadpan, and Blake chuckles uncomfortably.

"How hard do you think I'll ride you, silly?" Blake could feel his body beginning to flush. He slips off Bane's body and looks around for some old rags. There isn't any, so Blake decides to sacrifice his tee shirt. It's more of a symbolic gesture anyway, and tearing Bane's few shirts might annoy him out of the mood.

Bane only watches as Blake rips his tee into three, four strips of fabric. When Blake climbs back onto the bed, Bane asks, "Are those meant to restrain me?"

"Well, yeah," admits Blake. "But I know that you can break out of these simply by flexing. I want you to trust me enough to let me tie you down and blindfold you."

"An odd practice."

"I'd have thought you'll enjoy bondage."

"I have been in prison for much of my life, little one, and bonds hold no fascination for me," says Bane. Then he touches Blake's cheek and adds, "But you wish a gift for the celebration of a year more of staying alive. This I can give you."

Blake feels his blush expand from his face all down his chest and he nuzzles into Bane's warm hand. "Thank you." Then he took a deep breath. There had been a girl he had tried this out with, a Sandy or Sandra or something like that, with him being the one tied and ridden, and it had been fucking amazing what a body feels when sight is taken away. Swallowing to calm his nerves, he says, "Put your arms over your head."

Even with such a vulnerable pose Bane still looks as though he can break anyone's neck, and Blake knew his heart rate picked up dramatically as he tied Bane's wrists together before looping the third strip through the ties and securing - hah! - "securing" Bane's hands to the rails at the head of the bed.

"Keep your hands there," says Blake, mouth dry as he studies the muscles that tensed and relaxed while Bane tests the restraints. He can't help skating his fingers up the underside of those massive arms, but he keeps the caressing short. The last strip of fabric covers Bane's blue eyes and is knotted at the back of Bane's head.

Bane stays silent throughout the preparations; all Blake can hear is Bane's soft breathing, and even that, he knows, is because Bane is not on guard. 

The lube is too far from where Blake is and he hops off again to grab it. As he turns back to the bed he almost cannot breathe. It is a glorious sight for him: Bane, powerful, potent, immense Bane, tied up for his pleasure. Blake feels the deep possessive need to claim Bane, and he clambers back on the bed with unseemly haste. He doesn't give in to his immediate want, though. He has to take his time, drive Bane to the edge of desire, and then he can ride Bane until they both carve themselves into each other's psyche.

Blake kisses Bane first on the lips, then over his blindfolded eyes, and then over his jaw, down his neck; with each press of the lips Blake darts his tongue out to taste. Jaw to neck, to shoulders, up the arms, elbows; back to chest, nipples - " _hmm, let's try that again_ " - and then over the ridges of the strong abdomen. Waist, hip, thigh, inner thigh - _"no, not there yet, stop shifting now"_ \- knees, calves, ankles. Blake debates whether the same treatment should go to the feet, and satisfies himself with kisses to the top of the feet and then he kisses back up. He nudges Bane when the large man is slow with bending his knees.

"This is decidedly odd," remarks Bane, his breathing beginning to labor. 

Blake counts that as a win. "Good odd or bad?"

"Odd."

"You are the definition of taciturn," Blake informs Bane, and promptly licks up the back of Bane's thighs. It is salty-intense, and Bane actually trembles when Blake does it again to the other leg. The feeling of absolute glee is nothing short of dizzying. Blake runs his tongue over his mouth, and then bends closer.

Unaware of Blake's plan, Bane tenses and then groans aloud when he feels the slick muscle sliding over his most sensitive flesh and then almost into him. He allows Blake to spread his legs wider so that the younger man can press in close, his breath dusting over the trail of dark, curly hair, and then the perfect mouth closes over his turgid cock already straining for some contact. Blake's mouth is hot and wet and slick, and Bane has to be told to stay put and not thrust up. He does so a couple times anyway, just to annoy the former cop, and is smacked on his right thigh for it, before Blake draws away and leaves Bane alone entirely. With his sight obscured Bane finds his senses once again narrowed to the bare minimum, and his skin prickles with the need to make contact. His breathing slows and he stills all movement, even the minute ones, trying to predict what Blake will do next. His muscles are lax but waiting, anticipatory.

Watching Bane turn his awesome powers of concentration to Blake is more arousing than the younger male originally supposed. It is stunningly gratifying that Blake can get Bane to this state of heightened awareness, and he is also painfully conscious of his need to take Bane into himself. He is aching with need, as pulse after pulse of desire pools in his groin, and slowly he uncaps the lubricant.

Instantly Bane jerks towards the sound, and the soft, scarred lips part with a tender smile, but the massive man does no speak. He shifts a little to plant his feet more firmly on the mattress, and that simple action dries up Blake's mouth. The slick liquid in his hand is cold as he slides a finger in, and after a couple of cursory thrusts he pushes in two more digits. Caught up in the feeling he almost forgets Bane, until the former terrorist rumbles, "Your hand might not suffice, little one."

"Shut up," snarls Blake, and stifles a whine as he removes his slicked up hand. His cock is dripping, trailing precome while he makes his way on the bed once more, and he pours nearly half the bottle of lube over Bane by accident. At least the big man jolted at the contact with the cold fluid, which amused Blake no end, and now he uses both hands over Bane's cock, sliding from base to thick head and back down, and finally he straddles Bane.

Bane frowns faintly even through the blindfold. "Don't hurt yourself, little one, you have much to do."

"I know," says Blake quietly. "I want this."

Bane holds his breath along with Blake as the slim young man braces one hand on the broad chest and then carefully guides Bane into him with the other. The initial stretch is difficult and Blake has to grit his teeth to force the head in, but once he has that covered he slides down slowly, letting gravity take the lead, and he focuses on breathing out, relaxing. Bane exhales with him, in tandem, and even through the haze in his mind Blake sees how the muscles of the great arms shiver with control.

"Oh God, Bane, you feel so fucking good, so good," mutters the younger male, and he shudders when he is finally seated. The hand that guided Bane into himself is now used to stroke his flagging erection, coaxing it back into the game. It takes time for his hole to get used again to the incredible girth, and the head of Bane's cock is already nudging his prostate, fuck, and eventually he does feel his body demanding more stimulation. Blake shakily places both hands on Bane's chest, spreading his legs more widely, and then he slides up, and down, and up again, and down, and the pace picks up. 

Blake is gasping at the tumult of physical pleasure roaring through his system. The slow grind of his hips is met with an answering jolt of Bane's, and their motions matched perfectly. Each time he slams down he is matched with Bane's thrust, and the large man drives up into him. Soon the pace was a punishing one that leaves Blake panting, hair beginning to dampen with sweat, and Bane thrusts deeper and deeper into him (or so it felt), until finally Blake reaches up to touch Bane's elbow and he cries out for Bane to hold him.

And the thin restraints pose no problem at all because within the next breath Blake is pinned to the mattress, his legs wrapped about Bane's ribs and Bane thrusting wildly into the young man, his blindfold still firmly secured. Their lips locked together, once, twice, a third time, and then Blake throws his head back to cry out with the sheer need that shoots through him with every roll of their bodies. There are no words, no thought, just the mingling of their scents and senses until Blake can't tell where he ends and where Bane begins and he grips the broad shoulders in supplication and desire.

Then abruptly, on a wordless scream, Blake arches up and comes thickly between them, white strings of seed that smear between their rutting bodies. Bane tightens his hold on Blake's body and then his movements stutter, hips locked against the smaller man's. Blake feels the heat spread inside him and then out onto his thighs, down onto the sheets, and he has never felt more wanted in his entire life.

His fingers claw weakly at the muscled shoulders and he seeks out Bane's mouth blindly, before pressing close and sliding his tongue into Bane's mouth. It is a kiss that he has come to associate with Bane: there is a slow caress of tongues and lips, before Bane forces his way into Blake's mouth. They inhale each other's scents, and Blake moaned when Bane continued stroking his flanks despite Blake's sensitized skin. They roll onto their sides, still kissing, and still connected.

Finally, interminably, Blake withdraws from the kiss and Bane pulls away from Blake, tugging off the blindfold. The two men gaze at each other, and Blake cautiously essays a smile and touches Bane's cheek.

Bane leans into the touch for a moment. Then he says, "Happy birthday?"

"Yeah, it is," agrees Blake, and he buries his face into Bane's neck.  _This is it_ , he decides, mouthing the skin there, his heart racing with endorphins and adrenaline and fear and something more. He takes a deep breath and says, "Bane?"

"Yes, little one?"

"I've never really asked you this," Blake begins, hating himself for not being able to ask outright, "but do you... I mean, do you care for me?"

Bane shifts so that he can look into Blake's face. "Of course."

"So..." Blake breathes in and out, slowly, deeply, and continues, "So I can... I can consider us, um... lovers?"

Bane brushes his thick fingers through Blake's hair and smirks slightly. "I thought we already are."

"And that means I can love you?" asks the young man, snuggling closer. "And you won't leave me?"

"Little one, is this what all this is about?" Bane prods. "That you think that by loving me, I will abandon you?"

"Everyone leaves me," Blake points out. "They always say they love me, and then they go away."

The massive man chuckles again and holds Blake tightly to himself. "I think, little one, that I am not like anyone out there." He presses his disfigured mouth to Blake's brow and adds, "And I do not give up my faith that easily." Another kiss, lingering and tender, before he murmurs, "You have in me a faithful protector, Robin John Blake, and I trust you with my life. So trust that I am with you for life."

Blake squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lips, before he breathes out shakily and hugs Bane.

Sure, the man is huge and powerful and still fucking scary in a fight, but he is Blake's, and Blake will see to his redemption.

And maybe Bane can help Blake find his own too.


End file.
